


Veins

by baeberiibungh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Dark fic, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugs, Graphic Description, M/M, Major Depression, Masochism, Medication, OD, Prostitution, Therapy, depersonalisation, derek left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles just wants to fly, it is the only time he is not buried under his sadness</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veins

The sweet smelling weed permeated onto everything that Stiles owned, from his clothes to his books. The syringes and packets was hidden away for now. Now he just smoked lazily while the guy before him, whose name Stiles had already forgotten, had his cock out and was stroking it slowly. There was no hurry as a long weekend was coming up and all they had to do was continue being high and fucking. The other guy looked mean, just what Stiles wanted, maybe he will slap Stiles around a bit, maybe he will not prep too good, but that is how he likes it now, cannot stand anything soft, any tenderness. It is only fun after all. 

It’s been a few years since Beacon Hills and Derek and only Scott calls still. His dad too, but his calls are more sigh and exasperated suggestions that Stiles return home. Stiles loved his dad, he did, but home was not a place he could go anymore. So he stayed in the city, 5 hours away from Beacon Hills and did odd jobs, even sold his ass on occasions if money went too low and survived the thing that his life had become. He even starred in a porn, as a twinky top fucking a submissive bottom. That night, when he got paid, he went out and got fucked by unknown strangers in a dirty bathroom in a dinghy bar. The next day he had to clean blood and semen from his sore ass.

Sometimes, when the world seemed to be physically leaning on him, Stiles though of asking for help, of going home, of being among people who loved him and whom he loved, even now, but that was just a passing feeling that lingered on as a bad taste in his mouth that would go out only when he burned his tongue with cigarettes. Sometimes Stiles would wonder how he is not dead yet, how he is not sick enough to be thrown away and isn’t that his luck, to be so lucky that he never contracted anything, isn’t that just awfully awesome? Stiles thought so, lying on his back in his small bed and looking at his ceiling. 

Derek, Derek never returned, didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t even let Stiles know that he was leaving. Stiles came to know when he woke up in the morning to a cold bed and an empty loft. Not even a note, and it hurt sure and it was a loss of course, but even Stiles did not realise at first just how deeply he was affected. He had the epiphany while getting fucked by three guys who left his body covered in bruises and shame and a kind of ennui that he did not even feel the hurt. They were rough with their hands and legs and Stiles found himself standing away from what was happening, not present, just letting it be and it felt calming somehow and he was hooked.

After that it became so easy to snarl at Scott’s face every time he tried to say something to make him stop or tried to bring up ways for him to get help. He started screaming and shouting at his father, letting him know how he failed Stiles and this was all his fault, his fault and the Sheriff just thrust his head into his work, unable to take Stiles like this, unable to feel the love he had for his son when he was acting like this, and Stiles felt vindicated, he felt righteous as his friends stopped coming or calling or seeking him out, when they started to avoid him, or pretend to not see or recognise him when they saw him somewhere. 

Stiles moved then. His father thought that it was a step in the right direction, maybe the change in the scenery will do him good, Scott encouraged them too, but he just ended spiralling more. He knew what the problem was, he knew what was missing, what could be the solution possibly, but he had no substitutes for his ailments and so he fell. Drugs brought momentary relief, his veins screaming hot blood and cool nerved at him and he would almost feel human again, something whole or at least start to see the shape he used to occupy, but then the haze would lift and everything would blank out, not of importance, because he himself is of no import.

That’s when the fucking started too. He could no longer bear to be touched, to be caressed, to be held, but manhandled yes, used o yes, hurt and bruised, O my fucking god yes more please. The drugs made him fly and when he was hurt when he was on them made sense to him, made him feel the too tight fingers, the too harsh hold, beyond a veil of actual awareness, but still something that can be felt. He would smile then, his lips pulled tool much back, eyes gleaming with unshed tears and he would feel loved, almost cherished, that someone still wanted him, that someone could still eke out a few uses out of him and he would be happy.

Gradually Scott’s calls became a monthly thing, then bi monthly, then something that would or would not occur half yearly. Stiles had trouble remembering how he looked like. Stiles had trouble remembering how he himself looked like as he had broken all mirrors in his shitty and smelly little apartment, didn’t want to see how he looked anymore, how the boy he used to be left no imprint on the man he was now. He got lucky that he got in with a group who doled out pain and drugs as the price for the other and Stiles got to keep his shitty apartment, the apartment that he had listed in the few emails and a letter he sent to Derek at the Hale house in the reserve, just in case he came back, just in case, but no one came.

Stiles had an OD, three different drugs in his system and a miracle he survived, but a host diseases that had been dormant was found too. The sheriff took one look at his only son and sobbed loudly, crying like no adult should have to cry. He made sure to take Stiles back with him and got him into therapy and vigorous medication and Stiles could not even feel the pad of his thumb, everything so numb, and he could have killed himself if he could, but he was always too tired to even get up from his bed. The Sheriff fed him, clothed him, bathed him and grew a new head of white hairs and wrinkles around his eyes as he tried to clutch his son away from the maw of death.

With time, Stiles did not get all right, but he got better. He still felt the need to feel his veins with something sometimes, but he resisted. Scott started calling back more again, Lydia smiled at him when she saw him the next time and Malia punched his arm. He showed a ugly grimace at them which was how he could smile now, as if forgetting how to, and they remained nearby, and Stiles let them hold him and held them in turn.

**Author's Note:**

> unbeated. Thanks for reading. Kudos and Comments needed to fill coffers.


End file.
